The Frappucchino Magnets
by FuchsiaII
Summary: Multichapter NabooOC, amongst other happenings. Gasp! As Howard thinks he’s the next Shakespeare! Stare! As Naboo’s Carot Cards predict a lot of garbage! Scream! As the Hitcher’s young neice threatens squirrels! And so on.
1. Spangly Towels

**This chapter was powered by: Mime shards at Brixton, Microsoft Word wanting to call him Taboo, Nabob or Taco instead, and small spider on the windowsill named Mabel.**

The bottle of shampoo was labelled:

PROPERTY OF VINCE NOIR.

DO NOT TOUCH, ON PAIN OF DEATH.

EVER.

REALLY.

I MEAN IT.

AND IT'LL BE A REALLY NASTY, POINTY DEATH!

Naboo was mildly impressed he'd managed to fit all that on one label. He made a mental note to spike Vince's mocha with a Forget-Me-Lots potion - Pointy Death tended to interfere with his Shamanic schedule.

He carefully poured some shampoo out, and turned on the PowerShower of Youth.

Meanwhile, in the neighbouring forest, a familiar-yet-unfamiliar-face was busy throwing a tantrum. Soon, the rest of her body had joined in too, which just goes to show what a powerful tantrum it was.

'OOooooooOOoooHH,' she howled, smacking the ground with her giant green thumb 'Dumped me publicly, on the apples-and-pears, didn't even bother to wait for some privacy! OOooHhh…the rotten git! 'Ee might've at least gone on ONE date with me first! 'Ee might've at least TRIED, but NO, men these days can't stick wiv you for more than thirty seconds – and I EN'T even being metaphorical! Ooh, it 'urts more than a safety-pin sandwich…!'

You have heard of the Hitcher – but what few people know is that, coming from a 'long line of Hitchers', he has also a family, including a young, green, polo-eyed niece. Technically, she should posses a humorous spin-off name like the Hitcherette or something, but she's only called Ethel, because, well, you know, spin-offs are just a bit _naff._

And she was _every bit_ as evil as her dolphin-raping Uncle!

'Right,' Ethel gnashed, her nose and chin thrust out like a moody nutcracker, 'THAT'S IT! No doubt my bogey-coloured visage and foot-long nose are sending my suitors packing – well, sod it! If I can't be 'appy wiv a nice green boyfriend, then nobody else should be either! From now on, I'm gonna work me evil voodoo magick on any miserable little couple that goes about cooin' at each other and snogging on public transport and the like! STARTIN WITH YOU, YOU SKQUITTERIN' LITTLE BUGGERS!' she roared at two nearby squirrels.

The squirrels stared at her for a minute, then got bored and scampered amorously away.

Ethel was momentarily lost.

'Oh sod it, humans are easier _anyway_!' she recovered, ranting as she stomped off into the Xooberonian forest, booting snails bad-temperedly all the way.

Naboo rinsed off the 50-quid-a-bottle shampoo, and exited the shower, donning a large and spangly purple towel. He stopped, stunned.

There was the most beautiful creature walking past him, the three Xooberonian suns like an economy-size halo behind her. Admittedly, it was a five-foot fox - but _holy pineapple_, she was beautiful.

The fox caught sight of him, and locked eyes.

Time stood still.

Then, after what seemed like years, it resumed its eternal hopscotch game.

Naboo stared. Forming words seemed to be difficult. Also walking in a straight line. Also paying attention to anything that was going on. Also breathing. And ok, most of these usually looked quite difficult for Naboo, but now _more so._ Magic dust, my turban, he thought, reeling, Lenny must've bin selling me crushed aspirins and tile grout again. Las' time I snort any of _his_mix.

'Are you a drug-induced hallucinat'n?' he asked the beauteous creature.

'No,' shesaid in a voice like honeyed honey, 'A Taurus, actually'

**Leave a review, or I will be forced to link a future chapter to a site selling poor-quality Boosh ringtones. And don't make me do that - the 'Hitcher' one sounds like a Hungarian paedophile.**


	2. The Camden Haribo

**Free T-shirt with every review!(see page bottom)**

**This chapter was powered by: Hitcher-themed hairclips on eBay, The Cure's 'Lovecats', and _not _filthy Naboolio fantasies, of course,but _innocent _visions of daisy-filled green meadows.**

**-**

Meanwhile, back in a small and kookily-decorated London flat:

'Shall I put the kettle on?'

'Nah, you look fine in that shirt'

Howard squinted at Vince, whose nose was buried in the latest edition of 'Eyebrow'.

'Vince, will you pay attention? Coffee?'

'Mmph? Oh! Yeah, knock y'self out'

'Thought you read that 'Cheekbone' magazine,' Howard said conversationally, as he wondered if he could bear the excitement of having Decaf instead.

'Oh that's _so_ last Tuesday. It was cutting edge, but it wasn't classic. Eyebrow, now that's got style tips worth havin'!'

Howard, who felt the same way about style tips as he did about giant squid (he generally didn't go near them, secretly found them threatening, but told everyone he'd deal with it like a pro if he ever met one), hoped Vince would ask him what HE was reading.

He waited.

He waited.

He took a sip of Nescafe and burned his moustache.

'Vince? Aren't you going to ask me what I'M reading!'

'No, I…'Vince paused, and looked up at Howard, itching to tell him, 'Go on then, what are you reading?'

'Ah, I'm glad you asked me that! Shakespeare's 'Hamlet', a heavyweight tome of intellectual literat…'

'Oh that,' Vince went back to his magazine disinterestedly, 'I read it last week'

Howard deflated like a balloon animal gone wrong.

'You? YOU, the Camden Haribo - read Shakespeare? Vince, at last count, you thought Macbeth was a kind of shoe'

'It is,' Vince flicked back to the advertisement, grinning in fashionista delight, ' See? Chequered red creepers. Modern slant on a retro classic – priceless! But I did read it. Rock'n' roll, it was – death and fighting and great costumes and wicked lyrics. It's like the Tudor version of KISS!'

Howard raised his eyes heavenwards, and burned his mouth again.

-

The fox (whose name was Ginger), realising that conversation should probably contain more words, cast about for something to say to Naboo. She pointed past him at Vince's now-empty shampoo bottle.

'What's that say?'

'Dunno,' came the inspired answer, in a faintly dazed voice, 'Bottles don't talk.'

Somehow, thrilling conversation (or lack of it) didn't matter. His eyes were like a spillage in a Cadbury's factory, and she was more than content to stare mistily into them and watch the Xooberonian suns-set with him.

Although she should probably find out what his name was. And stuff. Other stuff. Unimportant stuff.

'sigh..'

-

A little while later, Ethel the Hitch-hiker watched the makeshift magic carpet zooming towards her, on its way back to planet Earth. She stuck a practised thumb out, cackling evilly.

'Slow down, Naboo, there's speed cameras at Jupiter!'

'Oh, yeh! Sorry, forgot'

(When he spoke, Ginger thought, noticing every little twist and flick of Person, as you do at these times, there seemed to be more 'w's than normal - but it was ok, as he compensated by leaving all the vowels out.)

Ginger was coming back to Earth. They couldn't think of anything else to do. Being painfully roasted alive over Vince's hair-straighteners and then sliced into tiny pieces by the Shamanic Inquisition seemed preferable to being in any state that wasn't Together. On past planets and stars and purple skies, getting showered in glittery space-dust, they flew.

Although, the Hitch-hiker they'd picked up seemed strangely…familiar.

'Should we be able to breathe in the middle of outer space like this?' the green-faced girl asked, 'Shouldn't our 'eads have blown up to gross proportions and then exploded!'

'Well, the _Moon_ doesn't mind the atmosphere,' said Ginger, waving at said Moon.

'Aw. Das nice,' the Moon grinned back at her, 'When you are de moon, you doesn't get many wavings. Mostly, mostly dey just stare at you with they little telly..telez…watchy-tubes. Dey stare and stare. But, but…I don' know what they lookin' for. Did they lost somefing, like they odd socks? You think they'd av found what-what-ever it is they lookin' for by now, uh! They 'ad long enough!' and it smiled.

'S'magic,' Naboo said.

'Yeah. T'is,' Ginger said dreamily, laying her furry head against his scaled-down shoulder.

_Oh, pass me the sick-bag! Just you wait_, you gruesome little weevils, Ethel thought with a glower, _JUST YOU WAIT! I've got such Voodoo magicks in store fer you that'd you'd go green to look at 'em. In fact, I DID, which just proves my pin-like point!_

_-_

**Reviews (good AND bad – be honest, because it helps me improve my writing) are appreciated approximately as much as the immediate delivery of several thousand pots of free glitter spray and black sparkly lipstick to my front door. ****Which is quite a considerable amount, actually :D**

**May not be an actual, existing t-shirt. (see page top)**


	3. Carot Cards

**This chapter was powered by: The Crunch.**

-

Naboo's wisping (a lisp is risible, a wisp's just cute) tones hailed Howard and Vince, floating up the stairs:

'Where'd all th' carpets in this place go! I had t'substitute - we jus' flew 5 million miles on a _doormat_!'

Vince snorted into his Cola-Cola.

'Blame Bollo, he took 'em to the dry cleane…'ang on a minute, _we_? Who's _we_?'

Howard half-rose from the couch to see, and Vince knelt up, peering over the back of it like a well-coiffed kitten.

'Th's…th's is Ginger'

It was a five-foot fox, but it was quite clearly a _girl_-fox. There were large-shiny black eyes. There was a long foxy-face. There was lovely ginger hair – although, admittedly, it was all over her body. There were pert-curves, dressed in a stylish white cheongsam dress (There wasalsoa rather messy dead rabbit in one paw, spilling its intestines onto the carpet - but then again, nobody's perfect).

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Howard managed to squint:

'Uh. She's a fox'

Vince turned slowly to look at him, sarcastic applause ringing out of every orifice.

'Yeah, well done, David Attenborough! Otherwise we'd never have guessed!'

-

A few hours later – hours that had seemed to involve a lot of purple floor cushions, happy sighing and Bollo's DJ playlist including all sorts of rubbish slowdance crap that apparently 'made sense at the time'– Ginger remembered something.

'Naboo?'

'Yer?'

'We picked up a Hitch-hiker, but where did we drop her off?'

Naboo gave her a look that said 'don't know, don't care'.

Ginger shrugged cheerily. Fine. Probably just ran off when they landed. Or dropped off somewhere and plummeted to their death, God, _I _don't give a damn if they landed in an active volcano, as long as I'm allowed to purr at you and make sighing noises, like this: '_Sssiiiiigghh'._

-

As it so happened, the Hitcher's young niece had set up residence in their very flat – in the broom cupboard, to be exact. With a little mop-waving and bucket-jiggling, she'd wedged herself in cosily, knowing that the nasty hoodoo would work better if it wasn't inconvenienced by long-distance travel.

She was now observing her intended victims through a pocket-sized crystal ball.

The time was right.

'And now for my first curse!' screeched Ethel the Hitcher's Niece, 'THE CURSE OF TOTAL CLUELESSNESS! It's rottener than the eggs on me Uncle's Tuesday market stall, it is! 'Ee won't know which way's up! 'Ee won't remember 'oo she is, why she's 'ere or what to do about it!'

Ethel attempted to cackle quietly, stopped when she realised it sounded like Donald Duck being sick, and muttered the magic spell words.

-

'Carot cards?' said Ginger to Naboo, intrigued.

'Yeh, I c'n read them for you – it's an ancient Shamanic pract'se'

'Ooh, go on then!'

Naboo sat down cross-legged, shuffling the cards, and yanked a small chopping board out from under his bed. Ginger raised an auburn eyebrow.

'S'conductive to the Carot aura,' he said mysteriously, shuffling hard.

He handed the bundle of cards to the vixen.

'Gotta question 'nd you want answers? Jus' ask th' cards. Quietly. I don't need to hear. There's four suits: Carots, Beets, Taters and Parsnips, and loadsa other Major Arcana, 'nd they all know exactly what they're doing'

Ginger smiled, and whispered to the cardboard.

'Right. Now I deal 'm out. This is th'classic Vegetable spread. Card one: The 8 of Taters. Depicts a heart-shaped root vegt'bl,' he consulted his 'Interpreting the Carot' book.

'The picture shows the Tater being thrown skywards'

'Ah, s'a literal meanin', he looked up at her, with eyes like small puddles of spilt Lindt, 'love's'n the air'.

Ginger giggled.

'Two. The Frappucchino Magnets. Two people gazin' into each other's eyes, in Costas - or Starbucks. Means a powerful attraction between you and someone else, who's prob'ly opposite you right now'

Ginger looked up delightedly from the cards, amazed at the accuracy. Naboo's grin split his cheekbony visage like a pleasant hazelnut being cracked.

'Aaaah...' he smiled, giving a knowing nose-tap, 'I get it'

'Oh!' Ginger held her hands out, charmed.

'Yeah - you fancy _Vince_!' Naboo grinned.

'_What_?'

'The Carot cards see all,' he said mysteriously, 'and through walls. Vince's'n the next room'

'No! No, that's not right at all! I don't fancy Vince, you twat! Why d'you think I've ended up back here with YOU? _Naboolio,_ I…'

At that moment, Naboo's phone went.

'Hang on a minute…'ello? Yeah, Pete…no, the cheesegrater was purple…Linkin Park...wot? Look, leave the owls alone…Dennis the Menace…ok, cheers Pete'

Naboo put the phone down on the rather bizarre conversation.

'Sorry…wot?'

Ginger was stunned. She breathed hard for a minute, and then composed her foxy self.

'You're joking, aren't you? You're just pulling my leg. Just because I was too busy going 'siiiigh' to actually SAY anything – but NOBODY could be so stupid as to not realis…!'

'Sssh,' he put a finger to his lips urgently, 'y'disturbing the Carot mystique'.

'Don't bloody 'shush' me!' she said, sounding rather strangled, 'Look, just...just carry on with the reading'

'In th' 'Near Future' position. The Kentucky-Fried Lovers,' he read, turning over the next card.

'What does that mean?' Ginger said.

'Well, it _can _indicate two small people about t'make mad passionate love to each other,' Naboo said matter-of-factly, as Ginger's eyes grew rather round, '…or jus' that you'll soon order a takeaway Fam'ly Bucket'

'So? Which one is it?'

'Oh, you c'n never tell. Magicks' nottan exact science'

'It's not a bloody exact anything!' Ginger said, getting upset, as the evil green magick took a real hold.

Naboo frowned at her, as if he couldn't remember something.

He considered her for a second, and scratched his head.

'What IS your name again?'

'What? Ginger…I told you! Remember?'

'No. How come y'here?'

'I came back with you, remember? Through the Desert of Nightmares? On the carpet?'

Naboo squinted at her.

He yawned widely, a faint green tinge creeping into his turban. This was boring. SHE was boring, whoever she was. And for some strange reason he'd suddenly developed a hankering for Polos…

He turned over the next card disinterestedly, hoping he could get her to go away.

'This card's known as the 'She Fancies You, You Berk!' card'

'Why?'

Naboo yawned, and showed her the card.

'Cos it's got 'She Fancies You, You Berk!' written on it in mighty big red letters'

'Right. I see. SO …' she said, a low growl starting. Foxes do not play games. Games are for domestic cats, hockeystick-whackers with attention spans too short to cope with anything else, and 3D-Chess geeks. Naboo was none of these.

'…what do you think a card reading 'She Fancies You, You Berk!' could _possibly_ mean, Naboo?'

Naboo looked at her blankly.

'Dunno,' he said, and stood up, 'Want some Doritos?'

And he wandered off towards the kitchen.

Ginger clawed murderously at the carpet.

_Possibly to choke you to death with_, she thought.

-

A short walk later, he returned. Naboo opened the packet of crisps.

'Oh m'God, look at these cards!' he choked through a mouthful of crumbs, pointing.

'What-what, Naboo?'

'Th' spread is blin'dig'ly…,'(three syllables at once weren't his favourite. He swallowed) obvious!'

'That's what I thought,' Ginger said tearfully, 'But you kept missing the point, by about a light year, and I thought, I thought…well, I thought about kicking you in the teeth and storming out, mostly, but I ALSO thought…'

Naboo dropped the Doritos and hugged her tight.

-

'Dowitos', you lisping SLAG! I'll 'dowito' you!' Ethel screeched, clawing at her crystal ball, 'The one thing that could undo my evil plot, the ONE THING, an 'umble packet of tortilla chips, and he _goes and eats it_, the SLAG!' Ethel hurled the dustpan and brush at the wall, raging.

The 'Parental Controls' Content Filter kicked in (her Uncle had wanted to protect her young polo eye), and the screen blacked out, as whatever was going on in Naboo's bedroom quickly gained an '18' rating.

-

**Reviews appreciated more than being shot full of dead Inuits by a talking Hoover.**


	4. Lovecat

**Radar-rox: ooh, say-no-more.**

**brilliant chapter, had me giggling the whole way through. especially liked the 'well done david attenborough!' line, i can just see vince saying that... and the 'hankering for polos' too...**

**that phone conversation was crazy, don't even wanna KNOW what that was about...**

**who knew doritos has such power? rockin' chapter, keep 'em coming!**

Much yayness and powerful Doritos to you for a pleasant review! (Eats comment).

**This chapter was powered by: 2 Kit-Kats, pointy Gothboots, witches who practise Safe Hex, and nothing else but totally impure and simple Shaman love. That is quite a lot of power.**

-

All was Not Going Well for Ethel.

The second curse: The Curse of Hideous Ugliness! Dan-dan-daaaah! (It was so evil, really, it _did_ require a fanfare).

Unfortunately, the only version she could get hold of was with a built-in 'song-activation'.

She had hoped to find a song about a pirate, or a yeti, or maybe one about the Elephant Man, but she'd been so busy being evil, she hadn't read NME in many a month. All she could do was cross her fingers and hope the spell would activate when Daphne and Celeste's 'U-G-L-Y' came on the radio, and hideously uglify the nasty little weevil into something with big red eyes (like cherry pies).

_That_ would repel the miserable wee vixen away! Mwahahaha! Mwahahahhhhaaaaha! Mwaha-ha-ha-haaaahhhahahahchoke splutter oooh…

-

'Another saucer of cream, Naboo?'

'Mmm...yeh, go on'

'Bless you,' Ginger smiled down on his purring, from her place on the sofa with Vince and Howard. She paused to scratch him behind the ears, and went to pour out another saucer of best cream.

As it happened, Vince had been having a Gothy mood and Howard had been having a funky mood, and their tastes had, for once, met neatly in the middle.

On went The Cure's 'Lovecats'.

And before anyone knew it, there was a charming little half-Shaman half-puma entity slouching in the middle of the settee, and Ginger had squealed and hugged him and said she just didn't know how life could get any better!

Naboo didn't mind. And within half an hour, everybody was seeing the funny side and laughing and contentedly sprawling across the rugs and cushions, watching 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory' and downing Haribo cola bottles.

Ginger did wonder in passing where on earth the crazy magick had come from, but perhaps, she thought, a nearby angel just found it funny.

-

All this only made Ethel even MADDER .

'There 'AS to be a worse curse! It's 'ard to find sommink worse than yer boyfriend forgetting ya exist…and then turnin' into a giant cat, but there must be _somefing_! Somefing that involves lots of exclamation marks! Aw, YES…!'

Her train of thought de-railed as Bollo flung the broom-cupboard door open.

She froze.

'Hey. How long have you been in broom cupboard?'

'About two weeks'

'Oh. Ok,' and Bollo shut the door again.

Aaaanyway, she thought, breathing a sigh of relief as Bollo completely failed to find anything unusual abouta green girl-witchlurking in a packet of dusters and cackling to herself, I think I have a particularly twisted and poetic ploy…me Uncle'd be so proud!

-

'So what's it called, then, this masterpiece?' Vince waved vaguely towards Howard's skimpy manuscript _(A/N: This is not a euphemism, you slags!)_.

Ever since their conversation on Shakespeare, Howard had decided he Was A Playwright. Not that he Was Going To Be a playwright, just that he Always Had Been. Writing was in his water, his blood, his very toenails. He could out-write the writiest of writers with the writing-power in just one little writing-pinky, he said. His masterpiece was in progress, and said Playwright, wearing a shirt with slightly more poetic ruffle in it than usual, was currently nibbling the end of a quill-pen.

'Ah!' said Howard importantly, 'I call it 'Spamlet', and…'

'_Spamlet!'_ Vince roared with laughter, tumbling off the couch, 'As in, Hamlet's Spamlet?' He thumped the floorcushions, hooting.

'Just let me finish…!' Howard fumed, trying to remain dignified, ' It's a social commentary on the commercialised state of today's society! It's snappy, it's edgy, it's far-out,' he demonstrated, with accompanying hand-gestures, ' – it's very Howard Moon'

'Yeah, well, let me know when it's on at the Globe, won't ya…' Vince smirked, wallowing in floorcushion.

-

How fitting them, that the next curse hurled at the young (Well. 405 years old is quite respectable, but you know what I mean)pair was The Curse of Bad Poetry. Is that the sound of the bottom of a barrel being scraped?

'**Oh Naboo!**

**It's true!**

**Your eyes are like two olives,**

**In an overstuffed pitta,**

**Your hair is like silky black coffee**

**Only not, because it's not made of liquid and like, dribbling all over the place and it doesn't stain people's teeth brown and things**

**And your bare toes are like pink sausages**

**On a Persian rug**

**Oh Naboo!**

**It's true!**

**Love you!**

**I do!'**

And this was in the middle of Shamansbury's, Ginger having been suddenly seized with a violent urge to sink onto one auburn knee and proclaim this piece of drivel in front of all the other shoppers.

'Erm. Don't know where _that _came from,' she said slowly, standing up in the Eyeballs and Entrails aisle. The other shoppers applauded, and went about their business.

'Hmm…maybe you've been cursed,' Naboo said mildly, wrapping one indigo-sleeved limb companionably about the vixen's waist, 'Prob'ly one of these ready-mix hexes. I could do bett'r wi' my hands tied behind my back'

'Do you really think so?'

'Well, I'd need Bollo's help, I can't open jars with my teeth…'

'No, no, no, I mean about me being cursed'

'Yeh. Wouldn't worry, though'

'Why not?'

'Cos I can't tell the difference between bad poetry and my own arse,' Naboo said pleasantly, casually examining a small bag of dried lizards.

Bollo caught up with her.

'This true,' he gruffled, 'Shamen not have time for daffodils and quill pens. Shamen not know poetry if it come up to them in street and give them haircut. Although, Shamen also shoot poetry full of darts for stupidly wandering round city chopping people's barnets off, if it did'.

Ginger nodded, 'Yes, I see your point. I did have a suspicion that the closest he got to poetry was probably Edward Monkton on his last Birthday card'.

And with that, she wheeled the trolley off up the 'Vampiric Vegetables' aisle.

-

**Free T-shirt with every review! Made of 100 pure, finest-quality Imaginary cotton, with extra-fine Mind-detailing on the sleeves and funky Non-Existent print on the front!**

**(Oh come on, you get your critics opinion published on the net and your pleasing reviews make my day - surely that's reward enough:) )**


	5. Snogging on Public Transport

**This chapter was powered by: small green corsets, the discovery of stick-figures when drawing, Miss Noiyre and Howard Moonchester in a Jane Eyre/Boosh crossover, and _especially _wanting to parody 'Titanic'. **

-

A hand suddenly pressed against the misted-up window, as the vehicle rocked.

It trailed off the bottom of the window, leaving a small hand-print.

Then it came back, quickly wiped a small patch, and replaced the gap with a hazelnut-like face.

'What _is _it, Naboo?'

'Jus' wanted to see what was going on outside this bus. It's still raining, everyfings got all steamed up'

'Hmm. Wish this bus would stop rocking. Everyone's sitting perfectly still'

'Yeah, must be the suspension,' Naboo nodded, clutching the Shamansbury's bags more tightly.

Ethel the Hitch-hiker's Niece watched them on her crystal ball, getting progressively more irate. There was a SpongeBob marathon on the other channel which she could've distracted herself with, but then the presence of her terrible, terrible pet hate fanned the flames into full-blown rage.

Ginger and Naboo were Snogging On Public Transport.

'Garn! Makes my blood boil in my black little 'art! Like SOUP! Avin' to watch people dribble all over each other, tongues flailing like bleedin' decapitated rattlesnakes! Iss disgustin'! Iss revoltin'! Iss…depressin'' Ethel finished, a green tear sliding down her pock-marked cheek, 'Wonder if I can summon up a minor curse…'

-

'Hang on a minute, is it just me, or have we missed our stop?'

They sat up and looked out the window. Apparently, there were patches of South London that were nothing more than featureless purple deserts with large rocks and infrequent coyotes going 'wibble'.

'Where th' hell ARE we!'

-

A quiet night in. Vince had seen every single video on MTV2 10,854 times, eaten everything with e-numbers he could possibly find, and was now resigned to listening to Howard's views on Love.

'Girls do it to me too,' Howard said, nodding seriously, 'The whole instantly-falling-madly-in-love thing, that is,' he added.

'What girls?' Vince squinted at Howard.

'Ooh, well, used to have quite a fanclub back in the seventies! I got mobbed on a regular basis, you know. I had to _fight_ young ladies off with my saxophone most days'

'No!' Vince whistled in mock-admiration.

'Oh, yes. You'd see me in the street, just _going under_ with the weight of all this Jazz-crazed totty hurling themselves at me! I was Playdoh at the knees, man, after that – had to get two bouncers and a bodyguard to keep those crazy fangirls at bay. You know that photo of me in the lipstick-covered shirt? That was taken by Boulgom Fred the Bouncer, the day two hundred jazzed-out chicks attacked me!'

'Howard, _I _took that photo'

'What?'

'I took the photo, and the lipstick came from th'fancy dress party. Bollo went as Robert Smith, remember? And I was a pirate and Naboo was Elmo from Sesame Steet?'

Howard changed tack, ' Ah… actually, I was thinking of a _different _photo'

'Well, how come I haven't seen it!'

'Vince, Vince, Vince,' Howard shook his head with the air of one talking to a four-year-old child, 'there are a great many things about me you do not know'.

Vince shook his head…and turned to the next act of 'Macbeth'.

_Rock'n'roll._

-

Three weeks had elapsed since Ethel had stepped off that Magic Doormat and shut herself into the broom cupboard. Nicking the occasional packet of Twiglets in the dead of night to survive on didn't suit her –her lambert sleeves hung off her skinny frame in swathes, and her stomach-rumblings were just about off the Richter scale. She couldn't take much more of this.

Time for Ethel's last stand.

Time for one final, _slashy _ploy.

-

Bollo was out DJing, Ginger was out keeping-him-company-ing, and Howard…Howard _said_ he was going to seek the company of fellow intellectual artistic playwrights, which probably meant he'd just gone down the pub wearing a beret.

And then there were two.

Vince put the bottle down unsteadily on one of the coffee tables. Apparently, it was the one that wasn't really there. The bottle bounced on the carpet, and Vince, sliding down the sofacushions merrily, didn't give a damn.

'So...so...Naboo,' he slurred, ' iss a funny name, eh?'

'S'very glamorous, act'lly,' Naboo managed thickly, finishing his own bottle up, 'Named after a...a…aplanet. Queen Amidalalalala knows'

'R-really? So you're, like, Paris Hilton, only not blonde with nice ti…'

'Yer, yer…s'lucky, they's going t'call me Tattoine if I w's a girl' Naboo hiccupped, grinning.

Many bottles of Thingy (a Shaman-strength alcopop - hallucinogens guaranteed 6.5vol.) later, and Naboo had seen six breakdancing toadstools, and was cheerfully witnessing his seventh. Vince had held a long, involved conversation about jellybeans with his coaster, and was now busy petting a large purple tiger that had just strolled in.

And that blue puma was back again, and giggling at him from the other end of the sofa.

Heehee.

Giggly puma.

He pulled its whiskers, and it giggled even harder.

Vince giggled too.

The puma seemed familiar.

But it couldn't be – all the pumas he'd ever met had been black (or purple with yellow spots).

It was _pretty_…maybe it was blueberry-flavoured (this seemed like good logic to Vince in his current state).

He licked the puma, right along its be-whiskered muzzle.

Zuzz.

S'not blueberry, blueberries don't lick you back.

But, mmmm, _s'nice_…

Ginger scampered merrily up the stairs behind Bollo, back from his DJ duties.

Bollo stopped at the top of the stairs, staring at the scene unfolding, or rather, crumpling up, on the sofa.

'I gotta bad feeling about thi…'

'Vince? Naboo! WHAT THE F…?'

-

'Arr, that's better,' said Ethel, sighing in deep satisfaction.

-

Vince instantly tried to wriggle out of it:

'This isn't what it looks like!'

Vince re-thought it in this head.

'No, sorry, this is _exactly_ what it looks like!'

'Ooooh…!' Ginger wailed.

'What _does_ it look like?' Naboo asked, out of pure curiosity.

'It looks like a small human-puma just beat an electro poof over the head with a bottle of mouthwash for making a pass at him'

'Thass good'

'Why'

'Cos thass exactly what jus' happened'

Vince climbed slowly and carefully off of the 'Blueberry Puma'.

Naboo made a face, quickly uncorked the mouthwash and began to gargle as if his life depended on it.

'Sorry, Naboo, I dunno where that came from,' Vince apologised, replacing the dethroned turban upon the smaller man's furry brow, 'I must've gone all Velvet Goldmine on y' – it's my inner glam rockstar acting up…look, you're not supposed to _drink_ the stuff!'

'Shurrup,' Naboo glugged, downing it, 'or I'll never be clean again'.

'Yeah but…'

Naboo gave Vince a dark look, and a small burst of panpipe music played. Vince wondered for the thousandth time where the hell the panpipe player had hidden himself.

'How come you had a bottle of mouthwash tucked under a cushion?' Ginger asked, nuzzling up to him preciously.

'Shaman seventh sense. Hadda feeling I'd need it. Trust y'instincts'

'Always, yes,' Ginger nodded vigorously.

Suddenly, there came the most tremendous squealing noise from the direction of the broom cupboard…!

-

**Wooh, check out my cliffhanger. I've been taking lessons from the Juicy Dangler.**


	6. Howards Twin

**This chapter was powered by: The utter wrong-and-yet-so-rightness of Noel/Mike slash at the (link Boosh Slash Haven). (cease, you vile and fantastic lot!)Also powered by 'Mah name is Mike, I'm not a dyke, I ride uh bike' from the same location.**

-

With an almighty blast of green lightning, the broom cupboard door was blown off its hinges, and a livid, fire-breathing Ethel stomped out, pawing the ground like an irate, Christmas-tree coloured bull.

Vince choked, stepping back, his eyes bulging 'Oo are you? And 'ow long have you been in the broom cupboard!'

'Three weeks and two days!' Ethel snorted, glowering and advancing on them menacingly.

Howard put his hands on his hips and turned to Vince.

'Now look. We agreed on a chores rota, didn't we? You promised me _faithfully_ you'd do the hoovering every Sunday, and yet this young lady's not been disturbed by you getting a hoover out…'

'No way, I swopped with Bollo! I wash the dishes, Naboo dries 'em, Bollo hoovers!'

Bollo shook his shaggy head: 'Vince being retard – Bollo promise to do laundry, not hoovering'.

Ethel cut in with a blood-curdling screech,

'_I'm gonna make mincemeat out of ya, yew miserable little courgettes!',_

clawing the air and flapping her scrawny arms about horrifically. A lesser man would have screamed something undignified like 'Mummy!' and run away, but the single minded Howard Moon just said coolly:

'_Excuse me_? Can you just wait a minute, please, we're having a bit of a debate? Now, let's take it from square one; was it Naboo's turn in the first place?'

'Nah, I made chilli f'r dinner and spag bol the night before,' Naboo shook his pageboy head, ' – I'm def'nitly on cookin' duty'

'Well, _someone's _supposed to…'

'Look, d'yew MIND!' Ethel howled, puce with rage, her fingers like corkscrews, 'I was in the middle of ripping your spines out to make teethpicks!'

'Well, ribs would work better…sorry. Do carry on, Miss' Howard said in a gentlemanly fashion. Everyone turned to Ethel and listened politely.

'I'm defe'ted!' she screeched 'I try and try and try to break you up, you two miserable heart-worms'(she pointed) 'It's jus' tew…_sweet_. I now realise, even in _my_ tuber-infested liddle heart...you couldn't be swayed by a spell, you wuz too much in love!'

'No,'

Naboo stared at her, 'Wha' are you, a muppet! I brained him with a bottle 'acos I didn't wanna sparkly man-faery getting' off with me. Fought it w's obvious. And the other weird stuff that's been happening, if that was you, it's luck and my seventh sense that it all worked out'

'WOT? you foil all my plots and now it emerges you were doing it BY ACCIDENT? Thought you 'ad some higher force behind you! Thought you 'ad some Venus-like goddess of love backing yew up! Thought you love made you immune to the magic'

'No, that's Harry Potter,' Howard pointed out helpfully.

'…like you was star-struck wiv each other…'

Naboo looked the green Girl-witch right in her Polo eye.

'We might be. Iss none of your business'

'…I mean, OO DO YOU FINK YOU ARE!'

Wrong question.

'I'm _Naboo_, that's who'

Vince whispered

'Turn your back on her!'

'Fink I might just _do _that' Naboo said, as grimly as anyone wearing what's essentially dressing-gown with a cummerbund ever _can _say something.

He began to turn his back…and stopped short.

The green witch-creature had visibly crumpled. She hunched in on herself miserably, a tear sliding down her hideous long nose. Her shoulders shook. She slid down the wall and began to cry softly. Naboo, Howard, and Ginger gawped.

Not Vince.

He went over and slid an immaculately-sleeved arm around her, as she started to weep, _'Nobody loves me, they're all a set of veg'table peelings and floorsweepings, the lot of 'em…all I really wanted was a green witch-bloke of me own to curl up wiv and watch cheesy 80's videos togevver…s'not fair, s'not fair, everyone else gets a feckin' happy ending, and I never…'_

'Oi!' Vince jerked his head towards the kitchen, 'You gonna stand there like a goldfish with issues, or you gonna go put the kettle on? Howard, make us all some tea, willya, and Ginger, you'n' Naboo go get a rug 'n' some fluffy cushions'

'And me?'

'Bollo – Bollo, you go get the Kleenex. Polo-girl 'ere looks like she needs some'

-

A cheery new morning. The sun rose, the sky fuchsia, and the clouds geranium and pansy. Sunlight did not pervade the marijuana-and-poppy scented ecosystem of Naboo's bedroom, but if it had, he would probably have done as everyone does when they see the light, and grin idiotically and Feel Smiley.

He stuck his head round the door, and beckoned to Ginger, who was animal-curled up under the indigo quilt.

'You won't believe what Howard'n'Vince are doing. Guess they must reckon being sweet to y'enemies works better'n kickin their arses,' he mused, then grinned, 'except for Saboo. Kicking'is arse is totally justified'

'Who's Saboo?' Ginger said sleepily.

'A ball-bag in a hat' Naboo smiled cheerily.

'Oh. Can you introduce me?' she asked sweetly, and padded through to the kitchen table, wrapped in a spare purple dressing-gown thing.

'…heard of a Dating Agency?' Vince was saying.

'Yeah, they're usually very effective,' Howard nodded to Ethel, who looked a different witch, after a few cups of tea and a wee chat around a furry cushion.

'How would _you_ know?' Vince smirked at him.

'Er…not that I know, of course, I'm just saying, _theoretically_…but Howard Moon has never had to go to a dating agency, no sir, he doesn't know the first thing about them!'

'Hey, Howard, look at this one!' Vince cried, picking up the 'personals' page in the newspaper:

**Moustachioed Jazz-freak genius, 30-ish, fine brown hair, likes art, literature and muffin-coloured shirts, seeks elegant foreign lady with a penchant for snakes. Must like trumpets and bookmarks.**

'Woss this?' Vince pointed, '' Whoa, _Howard_…!'

Howard froze. My secret is out! he whimpered inside his head.

'You must have a TWIN! Check it out, 'ee sounds exactly like you chasin' after Mrs Gideon! Wow, how freaky is that?'

'Yeah!' Howard managed to gasp, 'What are the chances of that, eh?'

Ethel picked up the page and looked at it thoughtfully.

'Well, me Uncle wouldn't like it, but sod it, I'm sick of trustin' the opinion of a man 'oos idea of a good time is raping a porpoise! If yew fink it's worth it, and you'll 'elp me write it, I'll give it a go'

-

**Reviews are welcome, welcome, welcome, do come in, wipe your feet on the doormat and put your glittery plimsolls neatly at the side. Thankyou.**


End file.
